


metamorphosis

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Bottom Lance (Voltron), Drinking, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Transformation, M/M, Masochism, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post S6, Rough Sex, S6 Spoilers, Self-Lubrication, Xenophilia, indulgent scenes of lance playing with the space pup bc I can, keith going galra during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: “So…defined. Built.” Lance smooths that same hand over his chest, musing. He gives it a knock with his fist, ear pressed to his heart, as if testing the durability of his ribcage. “Shit. That’s some solid muscle. You could bench press me now, I think.”“Uh—” Keith says intelligently.Lance opens one eye, staring up at him through his lashes. He presses himself closer, grins. “Can you?”





	metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> The cosmic wolf is named Yorak, and nothing else can convince me otherwise.

Since his fight with Shiro, Keith’s felt different.

There’s been this—itch resting under his skin, irritating and bubbling. As they’ve been journeying closer towards Earth, he’s been waking up late at night more often than not, restless in a cold sweat. He's unable to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, coming into consciousness with his mouth sandpapery dry and nerves jittering like he’s had five cups of coffee.

Granted, the lion cockpits aren’t the most comfortable as makeshift beds, but whenever they do manage to find a planet to stay at for the night, the fact remains the same. Like clockwork, he’s up before all the others, anxious and on edge for no real reason. On the inside, he feels more like he’s burning, despite his skin being perfectly cool when he puts a hand to his forehead.

There’s other things, too. Stranger things, that make the new heat pulsing within him spread and collect in his belly. Where it sits, weighing him down, making him feel uncomfortable during times where all he’s doing is hanging around some of the others. There’s this twitching in his hands, weird urges to reach out and touch—something, anything.  

But what exactly he wants, he doesn’t really know.

Something in him had snapped that day, changed. The second he put his all into fighting Shiro, a power surged through his veins like he’d never experienced before. He’d grown Hulk-like, even, his vision shifting through a distorted view of Shiro’s smirking face, his muscles barely having to work as hard as they had been mere seconds before.

It was different from the times he used to lose himself and get upset as a kid.

The pain of his flesh searing, the familiar rage building up quick and fast beneath his racing pulse. It was like everything—the emotional intensity of it all, the fear he had felt, the urge he had to keep fighting and save Shiro—triggered this _thing_ inside him.

Whatever happened to his body then, felt almost like a transformation. He hadn’t realized it until much later, once they were out of danger and the intense heat of the moment of fighting Lotor and getting Shiro back was dealt with.

Once the adrenaline had cleared from his system, he came to notice that his mouth was oddly sore, especially around his gums. He’d ignored it at first, considering maybe it was residual pain from the burn upon his cheek or from being hit by the most brutal uppercut he ever received in his life.

A week passed. The soreness remained, but when he finally checked the inside of his mouth, nothing seemed visibly wrong with it. There were no chipped teeth, cuts, or bleeding gums.

That wasn’t all.

His hands felt tingly and clammy, similar to zaps of growing pains, the beds of his nails about as sore as his mouth. When he would get up at night, stretching his cramped longer limbs, he realized he no longer had a problem seeing in the dark.

That was probably the most startling. Everything around him came into a clear focus, like he was wearing night vision goggles.

Alternatively, bright lights are seriously starting to hurt his eyes. Even the sun is grating on his nerves, and his skin feels a lot more sensitive to it than usual. He’s grateful for the fact they’re in space more than they’re on planets these days.

All in all, he's been trying to shrug it off as nothing. Life has been good to him lately, better than it ever has been before. Shiro’s relatively alright and there’s no need to worry about Lotor or Zarkon anymore, his mother’s still with him, and he has Yorak for when he doesn’t feel like socializing and chooses to go off with her to explore the foreign planets they’ve been hopping around.

Earth is something fun, something all of them are excitedly looking forward to, along with the prospect of having a castle again. Spirits have been higher among them than Keith thinks he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t want to bother anyone with a problem that might not even exist outside his own head.

It's probably nothing. Really.

Currently, he and Yorak are settled in an isolated part of a thick, colorful forest, on some mostly uninhabited planet save for a few indigenous villages. It’s a remote, rustic sort of area, quiet and peaceful. Some of the others were off gathering supplies for the rest of the trip, helping the villagers with things in exchange for goods.

Shiro was still resting, and the aliens here have been kind, preparing fantastic herbs that were helping him get better. They can only use the one healing pod they have left sparingly, Allura explained, so his recovery would take longer than expected. The whole time Keith had stayed diligently by his side, but as of late, Shiro was well enough to chastise him about it and tell him to take a break.

As far as Keith knew, they had enough hands and enough time that no one would mind if he slipped away for a while, seeking the relief of a shadier hideout. Before he left, the only one he bid goodbye was Krolia, knowing she would worry if he didn’t explain where he was going off to.

Even after spending so much time with her now, he has to admit it’s still a little strange to have a parent around and concerned with his well-being. It might never be something he’ll really get used to, he supposes.

Running a hand through the fur on Yorak’s back, absently, Keith picks off some stray grass from her haunches she’s collected on their hike. She gives his palm an affirmative lick of appreciation, before raising up, suddenly alert. All the hairs on her back are standing to attention, tail firmly flicking through the air. Keith, who’d been staring at the ground pondering these new complicated feelings, follows her line of sight. Unconsciously, his hand covers over the hilt of his knife.

There’s a blurry blob of indistinguishable color in the distance, brushing past shrubbery while grumbling something as it walks towards them. Before Keith can stop it, Yorak is already teleporting over and bounding excitedly in a beeline to it.

“Oh, god, not again—!” exclaims the blurry blob, right as it’s being flattened to the ground. Keith lets out a laugh as he walks over to them, enjoying the sight of Lance’s face being scrubbed red and raw from Yorak’s relentless tongue.

“Keith,” Lance pleas, strangled, “Come on, don’t just stand there laughing. Help me, call off your stupid mutt already!”

Crossing his arms, Keith directs his glare to the depths of Lance's soul. “Call her a stupid mutt again, and I’ll command her to wake you up like this every morning from now on.”

Struggling to hold Yorak back one handed, Lance throws his other hand into the air, signalling surrender. He looks honestly pathetic as he stares back up at Keith, lip wriggling between his teeth at the mere thought of such a punishment.

“Alright, alright, I won’t! Please, just—no, bad space puppy! Bad! I just cleaned this jacket, and you’re slobbering all over it—”  

Keith decides to take pity on him, though mostly for the effect of having some peace and quiet again. After a firm command of, “Yorak, halt,” within seconds, she’s sitting back and staring expectantly up at him.

Keith pats her head. “Good girl. Now stay, you know Lance is a big baby about his appearance.”

Fishing a hand into his pocket, Keith pulls out a small strip of dried meat he saved from lunch, and tosses it out for her. As she leaps into the air, catching it right between her massive jaw, Lance groans and slowly pulls himself up from the ground.

His hair is slicked back with spit, but some strands are sticking up straight into the air, giving him the appearance of a very disgruntled cactus. Keith continues laughing, softly, watching as Lance tries in vain to rearrange his disheveled clothing and wipe frantically at his face. He really looks ridiculous.

Still huffing up a storm, Lance faces him, one finger lifted up. “Not a word,” he warns.

Keith shrugs. “Dunno why you’re so mad. She’s just happy to see you.”

As if in response, Yorak thumps her tail heavily against the ground. Lance gives up on attempting to rid the wrinkles from his jacket, and glances at where she’s practically beaming up at him. She barks, twice. It’s the kind that Keith’s learned has meant that she really is overjoyed, and he smiles, watching the way Lance’s scowl flattens out.

Relenting with a sigh, Lance reaches down to stroke over her head. “Alright, you got me, Yori. That’s my weakness. I’m no match for those big ol’, beautiful eyes.”

Keith finds himself staring at the scene for longer than he thinks might be reasonable, but there’s something slightly hypnotizing about it. How Yorak rolls over onto her back so Lance can scratch her stomach, the way Lance laughs and calls her cute. The gentle, rhythmic movements of Lance’s fingers sifting through her fur make Keith feel faint in a way, resurrecting that urge to touch.

When he can’t stand the itch any longer, Keith turns away. Directs his gaze to the sky, which doesn’t have clouds. Perhaps they don’t have a need for them this far out in the galaxy.

“So...what are you doing here?” Keith asks the question flatly, though there's no hint of annoyance lying under it. Even with all the weird inner changes happening to him, he's felt pretty relaxed, and Lance has been a lot more focused since they began their mission back to Earth. Not a single fight has broken out between them, which Keith has absolutely no complaints about.

Lance’s mood, which he’s always found to be finicky, has finally taken a turn for the better.

It’s probably a combination of the time, the belated maturation Lance is coming around to with the fact he knows he’s going to see his family again. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. It’s just one less problem for them all to deal with, and Keith’s finding it easier and easier to hang around him like this, to share space with him and just _be_.

“Your mom said you’d be out here,” Lance explains. Clearing his throat, he brushes his fingers through his mussed hair, before letting them fall away again, defeated. “We were all going to sit down and eat with the leader of the village later tonight. I pulled the short twig and got sent on Keith-retrieval duty. Man, could you not have picked a more difficult place to get to?”

Now that Yorak’s stopped bothering him, Keith seems to notice just how out of breath Lance really is. The area where Keith hiked up to, well—it wasn’t exactly a simple climb, he supposes. Lance’s cheeks are ruddy and his clothes riddled with strange, spiky purple seeds from the plants covering the woods. A smudge of dirt is streaked across his forehead. There’s a thin sheen of sweat beading on his brow, and he quickly sheds his jacket, tying it tight around his waist.

“Ah,” Lance moans into the breeze that washes over them. He aims a finger gun to the sky, cocking his thumb back as the invisible trigger. “Now that’s better.”

Keith leads him back over to where he’d been sitting—a massive, fallen yellow tree that has more the quality of foam than of wood—offering some water from his pack while Yorak collapses to the ground with a huff, her eyes slipping closed within the relief of the shade.

Lance eyes the tree warily for a moment. Carefully, he sits down, and then dramatically lays himself back on it once he's deemed there's no danger. He's completely spread eagled, the thing being about ten times bigger than any couch they’ve ever sat on.

Keith, on the other hand, sits ramrod straight next to him. Stiffly observing, as Lance closes his eyes and dozes for a few minutes.

Keith doesn’t bother him, just watches the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The itch he’s been trying to avoid is sinking right back in, causing him to think about how the sliver of skin showing on Lance’s stomach, where his shirt has risen up, looks unusually soft and inviting.

He folds his arms across his chest to keep his hands in place, wondering how long he can hold out before doing something obscenely stupid.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry. Not long after, Lance rouses himself, stretching and talking with his hands waving all about, filled with renewed energy.

“Hey. It’s sort of pretty up here, though, huh,” Lance laughs. His sharp elbow nudges into Keith’s side. “You’ve got a good eye for spots like this. Even if you have to basically die to get to them.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. He draws his knees up to his chest, scooting away. That warmth inside him is springing to life at the touch, and he shivers, eyes caught on the striking angles of Lance’s face.

Lance is better looking than he gives him credit for, he thinks. Especially within the splotchy golden light of this foreign planet’s sun, fading fast over the horizon.

They watch the sunset together. It’s—not quite Earthly. The colors come all at once, like an invisible force has splashed paint over it, and then blink away into black within seconds. There is no gradual build up, or satisfying end. It just stops.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.” Lance stirs from the uprooted tree, brushing dirt from his pants. Keith hears some rustling, a twig snapping. “Shit, I can’t see a damn thing. You bring a light?”

Keith flicks his gaze from Yorak, who’s stirring from the brief slumber she fell into. The darkness is prevalent and eerie, but his line of sight is clearer and more distinct than ever. He thinks he may even be able to smell something in the air, pointing them in the direction they need to go.

There’s no words exchanged as Keith grabs hold of Lance’s wrist, guiding him down the mostly untouched path full of dangerous snags of roots and thick underbrush, Yorak in front using the soft glow of her fur as a dull beacon leading them forward. Every time Lance’s thigh or arm accidentally brushes up against his own, the heat spreads, his heart rapidly flutters.

Keith’s feet move around the terrain like it’s still daylight, like he’s traveled across this path a million times. They repeatedly dodge outstretched limbs of trees, curling vines, random debris. At one point, Keith comes more behind him, adding a hand to the small of Lance’s back in order to keep him from stepping straight into a bog.

Oh, now _that_ feels good. Better. Much better.

His mind is consumed with it, the itch falling away the more he keeps holding on. _It feels good to make contact,_ his body tells him _. Do it again. Make more contact._

What bizarre thoughts. He can’t—he shouldn’t, but—

Keith draws in as close as he can, pulled on autopilot by the sweet scent of Lance, until he thinks Lance might be able to feel his breath beating upon the skin of his neck.

And Lance—Keith is _positive_ he can hear his own quicken, somehow loud over the crunch of leaves.

“Your left, watch out,” Keith says lowly when Lance stumbles over nothing. He curls his fingers into Lance’s jacket, still around his waist, and tugs him back before he falls into what looks like a nasty briar-patch.

For a moment, Lance doesn’t move. Keith can hear his breath growing louder, which seems odd, because this is all downhill. There’s no reason for Lance to be winded.

Then—

“Thanks,” Lance replies. Quietly, like he’s afraid someone will overhear them.

Keith doesn’t know why, but he lets his hand gradually slide up. Not disengaging the whole way, but following along the length of Lance’s spine, feeling every inch of his toned back until he comes to rest on his shoulder.

Lance doesn’t shy away from his touch. No, he leans into it.

_More, more._

There’s a tremble of his frame underneath Keith’s palm, and the urge to take, to be greedier, feels like it’s consuming him from the inside out. He gets a flash of an image, a brief consideration for what it might be like if he were to just…direct Lance over to that tree, and slam him against it. Do what after, god only knows.

They should be there soon. They should be there soon, and he really needs to calm the fuck down. He gives Lance a firm push in that direction instead, an awkward silence falling over them the rest of the way.

Once they make it to the lit clearing leading into the village, Keith abruptly pulls away from Lance. Head spinning, wondering what the hell that was about. He continues walking briskly like none of that ever happened, but Yorak barks when he runs into her, her nose pointed to where Lance is still standing behind them, dumbfounded.

“Hurry up,” Keith tells him.

“What was…” Lance shakes his head, blinking in confusion. “What just happened? How...did you do that?”

Keith can see the flush risen on his cheeks, plain as day. He can’t find the words to explain it either, so he doesn’t try to.

“I just did,” he says, a bite in his tone, fingers twitching. He shoves the cursed things into his pockets.

“Come on, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Keith has crazy, freaky night vision,” Lance declares the second they sit down to eat, because he still knows nothing about the meaning of being subtle or having tact. “Like a cat.” He paws a hand into the air. “I think he may have turned into one while he and Krolia were on that mission.”

Everyone turns to stare at him. Keith sinks into his seat, pushing his food around his plate.

“I’m not a cat,” he grumbles back, “You’re just blind. Maybe you need glasses.”

Beside him, Hunk and Pidge exchange looks. “Well,” Pidge says, “he does tend to get all prickly like one.”

“Oh, totally. I think I heard him purr once,” Hunk chimes in, grinning. Lance’s smug smile drops at the sarcasm in his voice, his mouth turning down into a sulk.

Krolia’s voice rises above them all, a hint of concern in it. “What’s a cat? Is it bad?” She turns to him. “Are you alright, Keith?”

“I’m fine,” Keith insists. “Really, Lance is being dramatic. It’s nothing.”

Krolia levels him a look, but says nothing, choosing instead not to press it. The subject is, thankfully, dropped as everyone starts various cheerful conversations. Keith avoids Lance’s glances toward him throughout, the ones he can feel burning upon the back of his neck every time he focuses on his food.

Some sort of primitive, alcoholic beverage is passed around the table in a large, opaque jug. The leader of the village is an older alien, with a graying beard and two pairs of eyes that blink in from left to right, and they explain how the drink is a ceremonial requirement for celebration.

It burns something terrible down the back of Keith’s throat, but by the time he swallows, it stirs around pleasantly warm in his stomach. By the time they’ve finished eating, there’s an extra bit of electricity doubling with the increasing heat, which makes Keith feel lightheaded when he stands up.

He senses the comforting touch of his mother’s hand before he feels it, looking up into her kind eyes as she smiles, taking him aside from the table and the others.

“Whatever’s going on with you is no cause for alarm,” she reassures quietly, “Galra, we have superior vision in dark spaces. It doesn’t surprise me.”

Keith looks over to Lance briefly, watching as he attempts to get Yorak to play fetch, which isn’t quite working out as every time he throws something, she brings back a bigger, random item. His lips twitch up at the sight, before he turns his head back to Krolia.

As it’s just them, Keith thinks there’s really no point in denying it anymore.

“It came on suddenly, though. I—I never could do it, before.”

Krolia’s brows furrow together. She’s silent for a moment, and Keith feels the heat in him dispersing, being replaced with some anxiety for what that might mean. Then she shakes her head, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“Well, there’s not exactly any information about—about human and Galra offspring,” Krolia muses, other hand resting on her hip, eyes turned to the sky as if she’s seeking answers from it. “It is unknown how certain qualities might manifest later in life. As a baby, you didn’t have much Galra in you, besides the extended teething time.”

Keith frowns. He feels like he’s getting ‘the talk’ about ten years too late. “Extended teething time?”

“Yes.” Krolia nods, tilting her head back to him. “For your adult set of fangs. You were inconsolable for weeks, and only traditional Galra medication worked to help, so I know they must have formed. You’re father assured me that your growth of retractable claws was, in fact, not normal for a human infant as well.”

Keith’s head spins with this new information, his eyebrows jumping in disbelief. How could he go through his whole life with those things, and never notice them or have them show up before?

Krolia has never been able to read emotion all that well, so she continues on, unaware of just how surprising this all is to him. With a cross of her arms, she scoffs, “I don’t understand how human babies ever survive without such things. As if the soft spots on their heads were not bad enough.” She shakes her head again. “In any case, you should be able to use both at will now. Did you not know? I thought you would have been aware.”

Fangs? _Claws_? Keith brushes his fingers against his jaw, feeling the residual soreness still there as he presses lightly in on the skin.

Could that really be what’s happening to him?

Before he can ask more, Krolia leans in, one hand coming to cup his chin as if to inspect his mouth for him. Keith quickly brushes her off, embarrassed. “Mom, it’s fine. They’re...I don’t think I have those.”

She gives him space, standing there with her hand still in the air, watching him carefully. “I’m...sorry I can’t be of more help.” She looks genuinely hurt as she glances to the ground, the frustration coming through clear in her voice, and Keith feels his heart drop. “I missed out on a lot, so I don’t…”

“It’s alright.” Keith flashes her a reassuring smile. They’ve had this conversation many times already, and still, it’s a work in progress. “I know you’re trying. You being here now is all that matters. Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be okay now.”

He feels that familiarity of being watched again, something hot inching up his back, and his gaze drifts off once more. He meets the inquiring stare of Lance’s eyes through the dark, the blue bright as if he was seeing it under the rays of the sun itself. Krolia follows where he’s looking, her lips quirking up when she notices what he’s focusing on.

“I’m going to head in for the night,” she announces, ruffling his hair affectionately, “you should spend time with the others, work on catching up.”

Keith affirms with his own nod, but Krolia hesitates before leaving. He stares at her, wondering if he should leave or stay first, unsure what the proper protocol is between how long mother and son bonding talks should actually last.

Then, she speaks. Softly, as she turns away.

“You’re one-of-a-kind, Keith. Don’t ever forget that.”

 

* * *

 

 Yorak is trying to place an entire tree trunk in Lance’s lap when Keith heads over to the rest of the team.

Lance’s following screech is excruciatingly loud, and Keith watches in amusement as he stumbles around trying to avoid it, until the screaming becomes too high pitched for Keith’s sensitive ears. Also, Lance has come behind him to use him as a shield, and his warm hands on his shoulders are distracting in all the right ways.

Or wrong ways, considering the situation that happened earlier when Keith started losing control of that itch.

Keith calls Yorak off. She teleports over to drop the trunk at his feet, barking for his praise.

“That _wolf_ ,” Lance huffs, out of breath as he leans even more on Keith, “is an absolute menace. A menace!”

Nearby, Pidge and Hunk are doubled over with laughter at Lance's misfortune, both of them huddled on some wooden seats set around a large community fire. The jug is still being passed between everyone, paladins and aliens alike, and when Keith pries himself away from Lance’s grip Coran pushes another glass into his hands.

Lance stays very, very close to him all night. The booze blurs him into nothing more than a lanky, lean figure, constantly getting into his space. His grin is cheshire mischievous and makes Keith want to wipe it off his face with his lips.

None of them really consume too much of the alcohol, as it’s—strong, and acts a little differently in his system than Keith remembers from his days spent drinking beer at the Garrison. He only took a few sips before discreetly tossing the rest of his new glass away.

His mind is clear and not unaware of his surroundings, but his body is buzzing with all sorts of good feelings. He's greatly enjoying every touch from Lance’s wandering fingers brushing his thigh, every bit of sensory information spilling around him.

There’s a small group of aliens playing lilting tunes of instruments that look a lot like drums, and the beat of them hits Keith deep, to the point he swears he can feel it in his bones.

Pidge calls it quits first, stumbling off to say she’s going to check on Shiro before she goes to sleep. Hunk follows to make sure she’ll make it there without face planting straight into the ground. The others—they leave not long after, Allura and Romelle dragging an almost unconscious Coran together to one of the huts offered to them.

One by one, the aliens filter off into the night, disappearing into their homes with their families. Until, of course, it just has to be him and Lance, caught laying out under the stars.

Keith’s not really sure how they ended up like that. Something Lance said—he’d been chattering about Earth, talking about his family, about how he hoped it would rain for a week straight when they got there—pushed them into the topic of stargazing.

This is a fairly small planet, so the stars seem closer, more within their reach. It’s strange, thinking that this used to be an old past time of his, which he’s neglected since becoming so used to seeing the view when he’s hurtling through it. He's grown desensitized to it, even. He’s thankful Lance is making him appreciate them again by creating silly names for potential constellations that these aliens might have.

Keith thinks it’s unlikely that _Big Dickus Maximus_ actually exists, but it’s a nice thought.

The night labors on at a slow rate. Yorak, exhausted by all the alien children that were playing with her earlier, is slumped off by the dying fire, her snore like thunder rumbling. It’s a constant, even sound, and Keith likes the way it feels coming through the ground, settling into his fingertips.

“You’ve really changed,” Lance says to him, in a whisper. He’s curled on his side now, staring over him, while Keith is lying flat on his back in the grass. “A lot.”

He sounds more serious than he did a few minutes ago. Definitely more serious than he did while he was outlining a pair of perky DD’s in the sky.

“Mmm,” Keith hums, closing his eyes, enjoying the way Lance’s hot breath coasts over his face.

It feels too good. The closer Lance has gotten, the harder it’s been to ignore. _Lance_ probably feels good, and Keith wishes he would just break this unbearable tension, get it over with already and touch him.

The itch is pulsing in his veins, agonizing and urgent. He knows what it means now, and he really doesn't care what has to be done to solve it.

“Seriously, mullet. I mean it. Don’t ignore me,” Lance bristles, pinching his cheek. “You seem a lot more mellow. It’s weird, but I like it.”

Keith doesn’t know how to respond. He bites his lip, digging his nails into the grass. _Focus, focus_.

“And your body…”  

He hears the small hitch in Lance’s breath, the pause poignant and long with insinuation. Tentatively, fingers brush over his hip, and Keith’s eyes snap open.

Oh, _that’s_ it. That's what he needs, he realizes with a start.

He needs more of _that_.

“So...defined. Built.” Lance smooths that same hand over his chest, musing. He gives it a knock with his fist, ear pressed to his heart, as if testing the durability of his rib cage. “Shit. That’s some solid muscle. You could bench press me now, I think.”

“Uh—” Keith says intelligently.

Lance opens one eye, staring up at him through his lashes. He presses himself closer, grins. “Can you?”

“Pretty sure I could do it before,” Keith replies shakily, flattening himself as best he can against the ground. Lance stays attached to him, his grip only tightening, body folding onto him in a hug of sorts. His fingers are fluttering up his side, stroking from his hip to his chest, and then back down again.

Keith thinks he might black out from the pleasure soon. Lance’s weight on top of him pushes him into an unfamiliar rush of adrenaline. His vision is shifting in weird ways and the blood is pumping so fast in his ears he can barely hear anything.

“You’re, w-what? 130 pounds soaking wet?”

Keith tries to keep the conversation, the playful banter, because he feels like the second he stops talking he’s going to shove Lance into the dirt. He’s going to straddle over him, wrap his fingers around his neck, and kiss those flirtatious words right out of his mouth.

Lance gasps in offense at his remark. “Uh, 130 pounds of pure muscle, I think you mean.”

“Don’t think so,” says Keith, laughing.

If he were to turn his head the smallest degree to the right, he could kiss him. Lance’s face is just about nuzzled into his neck. It would be easy.

“Come on—lift me up!” Lance's following giggle is loud at Keith’s ear, but when it’s replaced by lips lightly making contact over the shell, Keith freezes.  

It’s an experimental move, a way to gauge Keith’s reaction, maybe. Maybe it’s just bad re-positioning. When Keith doesn’t protest, but stretches his neck to give Lance better access, inviting him to do something bolder— _that’s_ when Keith knows for sure that what Lance was doing was no accident.

There’s an unmistakable kiss this time, firmly planted on the base of his neck. Lance’s lips are soft, and sear right into his flesh. With a gasp, Keith grips tight onto Lance’s arm, as his wandering hand drifts up to the side of his face in order to stroke through his hair.

The hair petting, now that’s—that’s an even more different kind of nice. Something strange rumbles deep in his throat at that, something that makes Lance cock an eyebrow, though he offers no comment.

“You want me to do more?” Lance murmurs, husky and low. “Is that okay?”

It’s too great of a reaction, the way Keith’s hips jump from something that light, but he’s more sensitive than he’s ever felt before. “Please,” he says in a small voice, already breathless. He doesn’t know why he’s begging this early on, but he needs _more_ , needs it _now_.

Another giggle hits his skin. For once in his life, to Keith’s utmost annoyance, Lance takes his time.

He hums as he begins sucking, right above Keith’s pulse point, following with a few playful nips up to his ear. Keith knows the noise that leaves his lips is inhuman, because even Yorak looks up for a moment, jolted by the sound. She must not see anything to cause alarm, because Keith is faintly aware of her resettling, right as Lance flattens his tongue more insistently along the column of his throat.

“Oh, oh.” Keith bends his knees up, using his feet to give him leverage to thrust into the air. There’s no friction to meet, Lance is still fucking around at his side. The only thing he’s adding is a gentle circling of his finger around one of his nipples, slowly hardening it through his shirt while he presses more wet kisses to his jawline.

That’s not going to cut it.  

“Hey, yeah, that’s a great face,” Lance encourages, rising up from his lazy position as if finally intending to do something about his desperation.

Maybe it’s to give him a proper kiss. Maybe it’s to fuck him senseless, Keith hopes.

“You must really like foreplay, huh?” Lance's hand creeps down, slipping just the barest bit under his shirt. He brushes along the definition of his abs, to the ‘v’ leading to his groin, but skirts away from it at the last second. “I’m barely even doing anything.”

Something in Keith snaps. He doesn’t have time for this. Growling ferally, he pushes Lance away and flips him over, shoves him roughly onto his back. That instinctual urgency, that raw emotion, has his vision whiting out again.

He isn’t sure if Lance whimpers or yelps—probably a combination of both, honestly—as Keith scrambles to sit on top of him and starts grinding heavily against his erection. Both of Lance’s wrists he pins out to his sides, uncaring for how much he’s jerking him around, for how his skin blotches red from the impression of Keith's fingers digging into it. He’s achingly hard in his pants, mind focused on nothing but his desire to get off.

The heat, that itch—it’s consuming him, and he wants Lance to make it stop.

He _needs_ Lance to make it stop.

“Quit messing around,” Keith accentuates each word with a hard snap of his hips, “and touch me _where it matters_ already.”

Lance’s gaze settles on where Keith is anchoring him down, like makeshift handcuffs. He’s grinning, lazy and smug, eyes lidding as he fervently meets his rhythm, grinding back.

“Okay, whoa, didn’t realize we were taking this to weird places so soon, but I’m not complain—” Then his eyes slide up to meet him. “Oh, _holy shit_!”

Through the fog of sudden lust that’s overtaken him, Keith registers Lance’s words, the way he isn’t moving his hips anymore and his jaw is hanging open like Keith did something weird. That doesn’t sound like the exclamation of someone enjoying themselves—that’s the sound of shock, maybe even...fear.

Panting, Keith uses every ounce of self control left in him to pause. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your—your eyes, dude!” Keith releases Lance, hand coming up to touch near his eye, wishing he could see what he’s on about. “They’re yellow and glowing and—I _was_ right, you _are_ a cat!”  

“I’m not a…”

Keith thinks he’s being fucked with, at first. But then he startles as he catches sight of his outstretched hand, where his fingernails have morphed into lethally long, sharp claws. The skin around his palm and down his wrist is purpling in random blotches, ever so slightly. He doesn’t know how he didn’t feel that.

He doesn’t know why Lance didn’t point that obvious change out first.

Lance sucks in a large breath. As Keith’s about to resign himself to panicking, Lance gets his hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Keith looks between Lance and his hands, which he’s holding out in front of him like they’re bombs, unsure what to do.

“Alright, _allll-right._  We’re taking this to weird places, let’s do it,” Lance declares, his voice breathy with need. “Whatever’s happening to you, let it take over, Keith. I trust you.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Keith can’t help but snap, “We don’t even know what this means, I don’t know if _I_ trust me.”

There’s nothing he can think of that would be less sexy than accidentally slicing Lance open in the heat of the moment, or maybe doing something even worse. It’s just his luck this would happen, and Keith immediately wilts over Lance, feeling bad about himself for the first time in a while.

He thought he was past things like this. He thought he’d accepted his Galra heritage by now, but the whole thing gives him insecurity, makes him worried for what he might become if he’s not careful enough.

“Oh. Your eyes went back to normal,” Lance comments, massaging into the tense muscles of his shoulders, sounding a little disappointed. Keith doesn’t understand why Lance is gazing at him in such adoration, such awe still.

There must be something about his uncertainty that’s showing through, because Lance cups his cheek, thumb tracing tenderly along the space underneath his eye. “See, you’re still you, Keith. You always have been. We’ve known you had a Galra side for a while, it’ll be fine. I don’t think there’s anything you could do looking like that that would make me hate you.”

His tone turns whispery soft, other hand sliding down to ghost over his groin. Keith feels his cock jump against his zipper, and he grinds into his hand at the same time that Lance laughs.

“Definitely not. You’re so hot.”

Keith buries his face into Lance’s neck, groaning. There’s a sharp twinge, in his fingertips, his mouth. He’s fighting the full transformation, if barely. “But why is it starting now? I don’t want to hurt you. We should play it safe until I can figure out how it works.”

There’s a pause. Lance presses himself up to his elbows, squinting through the dark in thought. The shift rubs their clothed erections together, and Keith shudders, the heat spilling out heavy over every inch of his skin.

“Hmm. Never fear, for Lancey-Lance always has quick, awesome solutions!” Lance boasts, looking much too full of himself. “I think you’ll like my idea, but it involves getting to Red first.”

One cocky grin and devilish drag of his tongue over his bottom lip is all it takes for Keith to cave, because fuck, he’ll take anything at this point.

“Though...can I make one request?”

Keith raises a brow, shoving off from Lance and then extending his arm to help him up. “What?” he asks, not sure he really wants to know.

Lance takes his offered hand, and as their fingers clasp together, Keith’s cock stirs in the confines of his pants. He tries not to double over in weird ecstasy over something as simple as their bare hands touching.

“Carry me to Red like a princess?” Lance replies. Really, he should have seen that coming.

“Ugh. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Lance steps closer, Keith’s heart pounds in his chest. After he gives a firm pat to Keith's bicep, he cups his pecs with both hands, pressing them together with his thumbs massaging in. He lets his breath play upon Keith’s neck, teasingly, smirking when Keith clenches onto his jacket.

“I want to see what these bad boys can do.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not awkward. In fact, the transition to physical intimacy feels as natural as their banter. This has probably been a long time coming now, and Keith has been aching for the sort of contact that isn’t familial, pleasure that he hasn’t afforded himself properly in years—months, whatever the fuck happened during his time away.

Here, Lance is the perfect candidate. Someone he has a mutual history exchanging longing stares with and subtly checking out from the corner of his eye, and he’s missed him more than he ever thought he would.

What _is_ awkward, is the way Keith tries to speed-walk with Lance clinging to him.

Carry him like a princess, indeed—the second he’d scooped him up bridal-style, Lance had rearranged his legs to wrap around his waist, facing him instead. Now, with his hands laced around his neck, hips rolling and mouth working hard to mark the other side of Keith’s neck, he’s lucky he hasn’t just been dropped.

Because it’s getting harder to focus with every step, just like earlier. Keith can feel it come on more clearly this time around, like he can actually gauge where the alien form switch is being flicked on inside him.

It's a little like how it feels to wake up, those first beginnings of registering consciousness, when you don’t quite know who you are yet but somehow understand you’ve been asleep. He isn’t sure how to control the intensity of it, but he hones in all his focus to make it just a few couple hundred feet more, to not get past that point of hulking out where his mind begins to blank.

“They’re back again!” Lance exclaims when they're almost there, looking way too excited as he stares into his eyes, hair tousled and lips swollen. He tugs at the ends of Keith’s hair, smile widening when Keith moans. “It’s sort of fun, making you do that. Sort of freaky, too. I think you stopped blinking.”

Keith squeezes his backside, hiking him up higher, and captures Lance’s lips to get him to shut up already. Their mouths meet hungrily. The kiss is wet and sloppy, uncoordinated as Keith feels himself finally bump into Red’s sturdy exterior.

He flips around, slamming Lance back against her in his place. For a while they make out right there, pressed in all the right ways into each other. Lance’s breath is starting to match the desperation of his own, a whine falling loose from his lips as Keith flicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

The rest is a blur. One second they’re rutting against each other, Keith holding tight to Lance’s waist while he devours the heady taste of his lips, and the next they’re inside Red and Keith is just about tossing Lance into the cockpit seat.

He advances upon him quickly, Lance watching him with those stricken eyes, the ones muddled in between the fine line of fear and arousal. There’s an absolute fever raging on every inch of Keith’s skin now, this aching desire to rid himself of clothing and to make Lance break beneath him, to have Lance inside him until he makes that heat go the fuck away already.

“Hoo boy,” Lance exhales loudly. The words dance further desire in the pit of his stomach as Keith strips himself without a word, peeling clothing off with what feels like layers and layers of sweat.

Lance follows the movements of his hands, stiff in his seat, eyes raking unabashedly down his body. His fingers are clenching into the armrests, jacket askew from his shoulders and shirt rumpled from where Keith had rucked it up outside. There’s a few hickeys forming on his neck, standing out red and angry on his skin. Some blood appears to have been drawn at certain bite marks, running rivulets toward his collarbone, and Keith isn’t alarmed as much as he is invigorated by such a sight.

Keith wants to mark every inch of him.

He brushes his damp hair roughly back from his eyes, caring little for what he might look like as he situates himself on his knees between Lance’s thighs. Lance is still tense, his stomach visibly trembling as Keith exposes it, licking across his navel while flitting his eyes up.

“What now?” Keith asks, more unsure. Lance’s mouth keeps working open, like he wants to say something, but can’t move out the sound.

Lance shakes his head. He relaxes only when Keith rubs against the bulge in his jeans, head tipping to the seat when he follows by giving his cock a light squeeze.

“You’re—you,” Lance splutters, cheeks darkly flushing. He breaks eye contact. “How do I go about this delicately?”

Another growl churns from deep within Keith. He squeezes Lance harder, grinning, greatly enjoying the reaction it causes and the sudden power he feels over him. The sooner he has that thickness in his mouth, the better he will be.

“Just spit it out, Lance.”

Lance takes in one more breath before he rushes out, “Your entire body is purple, your eyes are basically glowing, you’ve definitely stopped blinking, and I’m—I’m pretty sure you have fangs, man.”  

Keith pauses, hand hovering over Lance’s cock, at a loss for words. He glances down at himself, the return of claws not surprising him, but the deep purple hue of his legs and torso is—something else, to say the least. The claws he’s managed to keep at bay before this somehow, even kept them at a reasonable length, but that could change soon.

When he looks up again, Lance is reaching down, thumb lifting the edge of Keith’s lip to carefully pull it back. Keith lets him, opening his mouth wide, sort of wanting Lance to put something inside it. His fingers brush against the tip of one of his upper teeth, reigniting that hint of soreness, and for some reason it makes Keith moan.

He’s never felt so hard in all his life. Never felt so wet, slickness dripping, near about coating his thighs. There’s something that feels partially off about that, but he ignores it in favor of dragging one claw up Lance’s shirt, grazing it over his nipple. It pebbles immediately. Lance’s brows furrow, his stomach tightening, mouth opening into a soundless ‘oh’.

The second Lance presses the whole pad of his finger to the pointed edge of his tooth, inhaling harshly when a pinprick of blood oozes from it, Keith can feel the slit of his cock wetten. Without thinking, he grabs Lance’s wrist to hold it steady. He flicks out his tongue, sucking Lance’s finger into his mouth, lapping at the blood while focusing on not nicking his skin.

It isn’t as hard as he thought it would be—he’s not sure how to get the fangs to retreat, but they don’t feel obtrusive, and they’re surprisingly easy to work around if he pays attention. Just like the claws, they’re only extensions of his body. Something to learn to use properly, much in the same way he’s learned to slice the weight of his knife through his fingertips.

“That’s it, good boy, clean it all up,” Lance coos, adding another finger, pushing for how far he can go without getting hurt. The praise hits Keith hard, makes him press in close, driving his hips against Lance’s leg. It feels amazing to get friction where he needs it, needy moans and gasps spilling out of him one after another.

He explores with his tongue between the two digits, soaking them with spit. Lance groans approvingly, other hand working to undo the zipper of his fly. “Remember that you’re nice and pointy and dangerous now, like, more so than usual. If you’re gonna use your mouth on me,” he whispers as he pulls himself out of his boxers, adam’s apple bobbing, “just be careful, yeah?”

With his limited knowledge of how this might work, Keith isn’t going to risk taking Lance all the way in, but he teases by licking a long stripe on the underside of Lance’s cock. It’s hot and heavy on his tongue. Keith buries his nose in the fine curl of dark hair at his groin, sniffing, the scent strong and overwhelming to the point he feels dizzy. He works over the length like he’s cleaning it, fingers curling around the thick base, giving small licks and sucks over the head, around the glans.

Twitching in his hand, Lance jerks forward. One of his knees bends in to his chest, foot steadying himself on the seat.

Keith glances up, smile wide, exposing his new sharp canines. He plants a kiss to the side of his cock, then several more along a pulsing vein, ghosting his breath the whole way. Experimentally, he lays his hands on Lance’s thighs, and with careful pressure scratches him through the denim of his pants with the less lethal looking edge of his claws. When Lance meets his gaze, he’s whimpering, entire body wracking with tremors.

He’s more sensitive than Keith’s imagined he would be. He shouts a little when Keith feels emboldened enough to briefly pull him in, suckling at the tip with just his lips, making sure to keep them curled over his teeth. With his other foot that’s still dangling, Lance nudges into Keith’s erection, and shamelessly Keith humps against it.

Keith’s brain is screaming at him still— _touch, touch, touch, more, more, more_ —and an instinctual urge encompasses him to just hop into Lance’s lap. So he does, popping off Lance and climbing onto him, letting their bare cocks slide together while he relishes the way Lance curls into his body.

“Your cock is— _oh, god_ , right there,” Lance moans, hips stuttering erratically. He practically convulses when Keith grabs them both in his hand, claws extended just far enough out not to pierce flesh, clumsily using the flat of his palm. Lance’s eyes widen as he watches him pump their cocks, and Keith can feel him thicken when he dares to incline one of the claws closer.

Well, that explains a lot. There’s no way Lance would be going along with this if the threat wasn’t, at some level, turning him on even more. Seeing as he never seems to mind flirting with aliens, Keith isn’t the least bit surprised. Amused, but not surprised.

“I’m gonna ride you,” he snarls, getting right into Lance’s face, blood boiling in his veins. “I’m gonna ride you until you’re screaming so hard that you eventually won’t be able to make a sound, and I won’t stop until you come in me, and then you’ll be _mine_.”

It shouldn’t hurt to play along, because if Lance really wants to be scared, he’s going to get it. His appearance must be toeing that line, must make him look wild and even more animalistic, seeing as Lance recoils about as much as he slips out a few pleading words for more. There’s almost a challenge there, laying within his blown pupils, for Keith to do his worst.

And wouldn’t it be a waste of his time if he didn’t at least try?

He’s so hot now, it’s driving him crazy, making him feel like he needs to rip his skin off if he ever wants to get rid of this fever. Like earlier, his vision is shifting, blanking in various spots. To correct it he needs Lance in him now, so with no more warning he lifts himself up, lining his hole into position.

“Yes, please, let me fuck you,” Lance sighs lazily, closing his eyes, back arching off the seat as his hands land on Keith’s ass. Then Keith’s words seem to register more, and they flutter open again. “Wait, Keith, you can’t just _do_ that, the whole reason I wanted us to come here was because I put lube— _fuck_!”

There’s nothing more satisfying than watching Lance’s eyes scrunching in bliss as he sinks down onto him, the blue clouded in a mixture of pleasure and confusion. They both gasp at the sensation, Keith feeling that odd slickness from before gush a little harder, making the path to bottoming out easy and greatly enjoyable.

It’s strange not to prepare, to skip over the step for the first time in his life, but the screaming in his head is finally tapering off. Lance’s cock fits perfectly snug in him, stretching him wide, causing his hole to clench tightly.

Keith tosses his head, moans loudly. This is exactly what he needed. He’s got an itch to scratch, and he’s not going to question anything anymore if it leads to him feeling this damn good.

“I stand corrected,” Lance struggles to pant into his ear, hands scrambling on his back, “you _can_ just do that. You’re so wet. How the hell—”

“Stop talking,” Keith grabs a handful of his hair, tugging until Lance howls. He buries his face into his shoulder, forgetting about the fangs, and bites the sweet skin of his neck to stifle a scream. “I don’t know, I don’t fucking know, just enjoy it.”

He begins sliding back up, lifting briefly to his knees, before dropping down again. There’s white pricking the edges of his vision, then black, and when he comes to Lance is stringing nonstop _yesyesyes’_ s along with fervent moans _,_ the taste of his blood fresh on Keith’s tongue.

Keith laps at what he can see of it spilling over, cleaning the wound. It seems like it could be deep, and he almost stops to make sure it isn’t, but Lance shakes his head when he falters, commanding breathlessly, “Don’t you dare. I’m fine, I’m fine, keep going.”

Smiling, Keith presses their foreheads together, and they exchange each other’s air for a while. Intermittently their lips meet, taking out the edge for whenever Lance hits particularly deep. Though Keith can tell it’s killing him, Lance allows him to set the pace, keeping himself shockingly still while Keith moves.

Keith finds his prostate easily, testing the new euphoria of extra lubrication with hitting directly on the swollen spot. It’s incredible, the ease in how he can move, the looseness like he spent hours fucking before this. His pace gradually increases from steady and painfully even, until he can’t hold out any longer, increasing to frantic and rough. Maybe a little _too_ rough, as a few times his claws scrape at Lance’s chest, or Lance’s lips will tempt him enough to want to bite.

Halfway through it, he rips most of Lance’s shirt clean off him, leaving the rest in tatters hanging from his arms. Lance doesn’t seem to mind. He’s about as noisy as he’s being, shaking and holding onto him like he never wants to let go.

There’s something Keith does—maybe the next bite to his shoulder, maybe the way he babbles about how much he missed Lance while digging his claws into his sides, that makes him lose it. When Lance’s hands slip to his ass, parting his cheeks and kneading them as he suddenly brutally thrusts up, Keith loses track of all space and time around him.

The white fades to black to _redredred_. There’s heat, spilling into him, filling him up. There’s Lance, twitching and spent when his vision pieces into place again.

His own cum is painted across Lance’s chest, thick globs dripping down over a myriad of shallow scratches. They bleed a little more as Keith swipes a finger through it, bringing the mess to his mouth to taste. Slumped in sated exhaustion, Lance is staring at him with this lopsided smile on, fingers dancing lazily along Keith’s sides and through his hair.

Then Keith feels it again. The heat, pooling low and deep, churning around inside him.

He’s still hard, cock strained and throbbing when Lance runs a curious finger along the head. The satisfaction of orgasm is short lived, increasingly frustrating as it feels like no relief happened at all. That itch, itch, crawling across his skin. Groaning, Keith sits back, trying to catch his breath.

Despite being a mess of cuts and bruises, Lance doesn’t appear deterred by all the crazy things that just happened. Instead he looks determined, perhaps mildly impressed. They don’t speak as he wriggles one finger into Keith’s hole, around where they’re still connected. Keith can feel the cock inside him already softening, but Lance isn’t out of energy. He pokes his tongue out in concentration, searching for a few seconds, prodding until Keith surges into him and cries in the curve of neck.

Pressing lightly against the edge of his prostate again, Lance says, “Uh-huh, that’s it. You still need more, kitten?”

 _Tap, tap, tap_ , the pads of his fingers rub Keith, relentless. Cum and whatever slickness he’s producing squishes obscenely together, the filthy sound increasing when Lance pistons his finger faster. White spots merge in and out over Lance’s smirking face.

In a matter of seconds, he spills over Lance again, shaking and incoherent. They both stare, Keith in slight exasperation, at how his cock continues to remain erect.

Clearly, they’re not going to be done here for a while.

The unsavory pet name should have Keith shoving him away, but he allows for Lance to wrap his arms around him, gently pulling out of him and lifting him up. He carries him over to lay him on the floor in the adjoining room. They had set up makeshift beds in each lion on the nights for when they can’t make it to a planet, and Keith sinks into the plush comforter, sighing. He's really too woozy and hot to protest anything.

“What do you need?” Lance asks him, shuffling to a hatch in the far corner.

He shimmies out of his pants along the way, flinging them off his legs with a little dance in his step. Keith licks his lips, eyes glued to the jiggle of his ass as Lance shakes his hips, putting on an obvious show.

In some distaste, Lance removes the rags of his shirt from his shoulders, wincing with how it jostles against his scratches. He stops to flick open the hatch, searching through it for something.

“Come back here,” Keith demands, hand reaching weakly into the air, “Need to fuck you. No, I want you to fuck me again.” He turns over onto his stomach, seeking friction. It isn’t near enough to be satisfying, but it helps to feel that relieving pressure against his aching cock. “I don’t know, in me, in you, don’t care. I need both, it hurts.”

He can faintly make out Lance’s bare feet padding back over. A warm hand slides into his hair, petting him again. The noise that rumbles out of him, Keith registers with increasing embarrassment, sure sounds a lot like a purr.

Great. Just what he needs, more cat jokes.

Though, Lance seems to be having fun not mentioning it. He continues the petting for a while, stroking his back in time with it, perhaps cataloging the way he looks with the mess spilled along his thighs and curves of his ass. Keith rubs himself into the blanket, claws anchoring into it, trying to get off against the ground.

Gently, Lance nudges him to get him to turn over, and when Keith reluctantly flips to his back he can see that his brows are furrowed down in concern. Lance traces his thumb over his fangs, his lips. “Damn. What's going on with you? Your skin is burning up.”

“Are you really asking that question now?” Narrowing his eyes, Keith challenges him by flexing out his claws. An overwhelming wave of disgust is flooding over him at the thought of what this could mean if he never returns to normal. Of what this could mean for what’s left of his humanity. “I’ve just turned into some sort of monster, and _that’s_ what you’re concerned about?”

Lance frowns. “You’re not a monster.” That hand fluffs up his hair, before falling away, his cheeky smile returning. “You’re beautiful.”

There’s—not much Keith can say about that one. Nothing he can do besides arch into the touches, pleading with Lance to take away the heat. He watches Lance climb on top of him, shushing him, his lithe body bending in for a kiss.

That’s when Keith notices the bottle clutched in his hand, his thumb popping open the top while his lips smother away Keith’s breath. Lance’s other hand drops to swirl a finger around his hole, dipping into the pliant muscle. Keith pushes back on it, urging him for more.

He somehow manages to ask, “Do I even want to know why you keep lube in Red?” while Lance plays around with him, thrusting two fingers shallowly inside.

Lance shoots him a wink, lathering his other hand. “Maybe I’ll show you next time.”

It takes a few minutes to realize what Lance is intending to do, exactly. Keith’s consumed and focused on the fingers moving around in him, stretching his walls in a way that instantly sends him into a cruel overstimulation. It’s unnecessary, to prep him for something his body is more than prepared for, and it does nothing but make the heat rise to the greatest urgency he’s felt yet.

By the time he can tell what Lance is doing to himself, Keith isn’t saying anything in words anymore, only indistinguishable pained sounds. He bares his teeth, growling, shooting one hand out to grab Lance’s wrist so he can stop his fingers from thrusting into his own hole.

“Let me,” Keith pleads, rutting up. They’re both hard again, Keith’s cock dripping profusely from the tip, slickening Lance’s. He’s never felt so ignited and alight with flame. He wants to be the one behind Lance’s ecstasy, _he_ wants to be the one to work Lance open, hear him sing for him.

Lance jolts, eyes moving from lidded to suddenly alert. “As much as I'm loving your new look,” he laughs nervously, guiding his hand away, “until you learn how to control the razor claws, I'm gonna have to pass on that. Sorry, but I'm not really into _that_ kind of danger.”

He’s looking more dazed now, sheen of sweat across his skin and breathing heavily labored. “Besides, I’m done,” he says, placing a searing bite on Keith’s neck. Another, around his nipple.

Keith doesn’t even try to hold back his whimpers. The next thing he knows, heat is enveloping him everywhere. Lance buries himself deep onto his cock, keeping the three fingers he’s been gradually filling Keith with thrusting in and out.

Somehow, Lance manages to stay cocky, letting loose a low whistle. “Oh, now _here's_ a sight I could get used to.”

He steadies himself with his other hand pushing hard against Keith’s chest, stilling once Keith’s completely inside him. The noise that he makes gets Keith automatically jerking his hips up, but Lance slams him back in place, with a force that knocks the breath right out of him. Keith stills, watching Lance’s lips quirk, the tilt of his head as he shakes it.

 _No_ , he’s saying with his eyes. _You don’t get to move like that just yet._

It’s the hottest sight Keith’s ever seen, Lance working himself up and down on his cock, bouncing in his lap. “Fuck, you feel good,” Lance moans when he begins to increase his pace, his bangs falling into his face when he can no longer keep his head from dropping.

Keith’s hands shift to his ass, drawing the tips of his claws over the sloping curves of it. Not enough to pierce skin, but enough to be felt. “You do, too,” he groans.

“Fuck, Keith. But you’re so thick, you’ve got...”

Lance’s fingers finally falter in him. As soon as he removes them, Lance losing himself to focus on rocking onto him mindlessly, Keith senses the oncoming blank out as it pricks the edges of his vision. He feels much too empty.

This time, however, he’s aware of what’s going on in every way that he wasn’t before. He doesn’t lose the memory of what Lance looks like when he finds his own prostate. He doesn’t forget that when Lance hits that sweet spot, his eyes scrunch in the cutest way. Keith’s head is throbbing and he’s still as purple and strange as ever, but thankfully the lucidity is there.

“Can feel it, like ridges or something,” Lance gasps, “And you’re—ah!—you’re swelling.”  

Keith looks at where they’re connected, where he’s disappearing into Lance. At the base of his cock, a strange inflation is growing, expanding. Pulling up his knees, Keith plants his feet firmly on the floor, and thrusts with all the power he can manage. The swollen area slides in completely.

Lance’s back sharply arches, and he shouts to the ceiling. “Oh, god,” he rushes, hands clutching at Keith’s shoulders, “Oh, yes, yes, fuck me.”

Keith flips him in a flash. There’s no protest this time, nothing but Lance begging and urging him on. Their hips meet brutally, Keith driving, drilling into him over and over again. He’s a little afraid still, to push in the rest of his cock again, where that curious bulge is. Lance is encouraging him through gritted teeth to fuck him silly with it, but Keith holds back.

Instead, he jerks Lance off in time with his thrusts, bending his body until his knees are touching his nose. The claws he retracts down, enough to stay away from actual danger, but keeping them there because he knows how into it Lance is. The change comes naturally, like maybe the knowledge of how to control them was just laying dormant inside him this whole time.

Lance comes with another scream, shooting in long strings that reach all the way up to his chin. As he convulses through it, Keith moves faster, spurred by his hole clenching around him uncontrollably.

It doesn’t quite quench the fire, reaching orgasm without being completely sheathed, but Keith does finally feel satisfied. The heat stops being a direct nuisance, at least. He slows, continuing to thrust shallowly through the aftershocks, before coming to a complete stop.

“You alright?” Keith asks, taking in some deep gulps of air. Lance is wrecked underneath him, mouth hanging open with some drool gathering at the sides, eyes closed. His chest is heaving, fingers twitching in and out. For a few awful seconds Keith’s afraid he might have hurt him, but then he nods.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs weakly. Keith pulls out. “Yeah, I’m more than alright.”

Exhausted, both of them fold into each other. They’re sweating and slick with all sorts of fluids, but Keith could care less. He holds Lance like he might not ever get the opportunity again, placing a final kiss on his forehead.

Sleep washes over Lance first, his small snores a comforting sound reverberating off of Red’s walls, body fitting perfectly in Keith's arms. Then, slowly, unconsciousness takes Keith.

The last thing visible in his fading sight is the color of purple laced around brown.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Keith awakes to something soft and wet nudging his hand.

“Lance,” he guesses, stretching his fingers into the velvety smoothness of it, but when he opens his eyes it’s just Yorak, who decided to teleport in to check on him. How she knew he was here, he’s not sure.

Maybe sentient robot lions have some sort of connection with cosmic space wolves.

Lance grumbles when he gets the same welcoming treatment, swatting at her until she barks. Snuggling back into Lance, Keith tells her to settle down, and she does, circling for a bit before flopping directly onto Lance’s legs as if in some petty retaliation.

“Oof,” Lance’s breath whooshes out of him, but he only curls into Keith more. His hand settles on the skin of Keith’s stomach, stroking, voice tinged with sleep. “That damn wolf. Troublemaker, just like you.”

It’s the first Keith’s slept through the night in ages, and he feels amazing, body not even the least bit sore. He covers Lance’s hand with his own. Glancing down, he smiles as Lance threads their fingers together.

“How’re you feeling?” Lance murmurs, lips fluttering down his neck. It isn’t charged with heat, just a tender sort of touch, Lance not putting much effort into it. The light movement tickles his skin, and Keith laughs, only encouraging Lance to sprinkle more kisses across it.

The lack of any urgency here, feels nice. It makes Keith feel more at peace than he has since the day he rescued Shiro.

This is it, he thinks. _This_ is just what he needed.

He gives Lance’s hand a squeeze. “I’m—I’m me again. I don’t know why, but I’m back to normal.”

Lance snorts when he mentions the word normal. “You’re always you. We’ll figure it out.” He nuzzles deeper into his neck. “One step at a time.”

Keith takes that promise, and lays it to rest inside his heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Season six!! Fucked! Me! Up!
> 
> As much as I loved Keith getting the screen time he so deserved, I felt really bad for Lance. He seemed super sad this season, so I wanted to write something to show him a little love~ People out there saying Klance is dead, but in my heart, it is still very much alive <3
> 
>  
> 
> come shout to me about the new season on [tumblr](http://lemonistics.tumblr.com)


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